In Trouble again
by JadeFlynn
Summary: Sequel to "Getting Wet". Tara, John and Randy are back: Slash, but not explicit.


**Disclaimer: Only Tara is mine:) You have to read "Getting Wet" first. It makes it easier to read. If you don't want to: Storyteller is Tara, a rottweiler. She is John and Randy's dog:)**

I am in the doghouse again.

Yeah, I know. I know how it looks. You all think I did it again. But honestly I didn't.

Everything was dry this morning when Randy left and everything was still dry when he got home.

Randy is careful now. He gives me just enough water to drink until John wakes up. He doesn't want strange people ringing his doorbell and telling him that it wasn't my fault.

By the way I want to thank you for that. That was really awesome. John thought it was amusing and even Randy could see the humor in it…...much later that evening.

But back to today. You are curious? You all want to know what happened now? Okay, here it is.

* * *

Today it was John's birthday.

And I wanted to give him a present. You all know I love him, he is such a sweetheart.

So I went into the garden and thought of the perfect gift. I remembered that I buried a bone last year somewhere in the corner of the garden. A bone would be the perfect present for John. He could nibble on it when he is in bed without making the sheets dirty. Sounds like a great idea, don't you think so? I thought it was.

So I went to look for it.

And I found it, a few hours later. It took me the whole morning to find it, but then I remembered _where_ I buried it. It was right under the flowers. I could smell the bone and for a moment I hesitated. Would I really give this delicious smelling, awesome tasting bone to John? But when I remembered all of the things he did for me, the answer was simple; yes, I would give this bone to him.

So I started to dig with my paws. The flowers were a bit in the way, but that problem was solved in one second. I digged right through them. An hour later I had the bone in my mouth and I was checking out my work.

It was a miracle how I still was able to find the bone after all the places I digged. I mean, the garden was full of holes with piles of earth and crushed plants and flowers next to it. I was pretty proud of myself.

So I went inside, walked upstairs and then entered their bedroom.

John was in bed, listening to some music. Or better, listening to some noise. I could hear it coming through his earphones. He had such a bad taste in music.

I jumped on the bed and threw the bone on his chest. He looked at it and then looked at me. His eyes widened, when he felt the drool slowly finding his way on his stomach.

He removed the earphones of his head with his good arm and sat up; the bone fell off his chest onto the bed. He smiled at me and grabbed the bone. He leaned over the edge of the bed and put the bone on the floor. "You are a sweetheart, Tara, thinking of my birthday." he said, while he walked to the bathroom. I heard the water running and a few minutes later he came back, drying his hands with a towel. He did it very slowly, trying not to hurt his damaged arm even more. He climbed in bed again. I made myself comfortable, proud at myself because I found John the gift he wanted.

John was downstairs, eating in the kitchen with Randy. Randy brought diner with him and he also had a present for John. He had bought John a motorbike and after diner John wanted to make a test drive.

John couldn't steer the motorbike, so he asked Randy to join him. Randy agreed with it, although he had some second doubts when he had to put on the helmet. He turned around to face John, but then he saw it in the corner of his eye. The holes, the earth piles and all the crushed plants and flowers.

I was on the porch, waiting. I looked at Randy, expecting him to be proud of me for finding that bone for John. His John.

But oh, was I wrong by thinking that. So wrong!

* * *

As I said in the beginning, I am in the doghouse again.

This time Randy wasn't the only one being mad at me. John was too. The flower garden was Randy's, but the plants were his. He picked them out himself. And now everything was destroyed.

By me.

I am feeling a bit guilty. I think I am to blame for this one, but then again: Who is putting his plants and flowers right above a buried bone? You are asking for trouble then. Everyone knows we, as dogs, can't fight the urge to dig. We simply have to.

I think for my own safety, I am staying here for a few days. And for _your_ safety, please, don't come to my rescue this time. Just let it go. I will be okay, here. I promise.

They will be in a good mood again…sooner or later.

At least I hope so.


End file.
